The Daily Planet

The newsroom hums with the usual energy—phones ringing, reporters typing furiously, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. You’ve been keeping your head down, focused on work, avoiding unnecessary run-ins. It’s been weeks since you switched apartments, weeks since you made sure there was no trace of you left for him to find. You thought that would be enough.

And then—his voice.

“Hey.”

It’s soft but firm, standing just a few feet away. You don’t have to look up to know it’s him. Clark Kent, in his usual crisp button-down and loosened tie, glasses slightly askew like he rushed here. You can feel his presence, that quiet gravity he always carries, pulling at something deep inside you.

This is the same man that did you dirty. The same man that you never thought would have broken up with you after a fight and confessed how tired he was of you. The same man who got with Lois after that the girl he told you not to worry about. Audacity must be on sale with how much of it he has at this moment.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you keep typing, pretending you’re too busy to notice. But he doesn’t leave.

He shifts slightly, clearing his throat. “I—uh, I was hoping we could talk. Please.”

His voice is low, edged with something that almost sounds like regret. You glance up briefly, meeting those impossibly blue eyes. There’s something different about them today—not just the usual determination, but a quiet desperation.

“I know you don’t want to see me. I get it. But I can’t just—” He exhales sharply, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I can’t pretend I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret everything.”

The newsroom around you keeps moving, oblivious to the storm between you two. You have every reason to walk away, to tell him it’s too late. But the way he’s looking at you—it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time in months, really seeing you. And for the first time, he looks like he’s afraid.

Afraid that this time, you might not come back.